


Flinch

by days_of_dust



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 01:27:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days_of_dust/pseuds/days_of_dust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been one month since Cas fell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flinch

**Author's Note:**

> First fic I've written in a verrrry long time so be gentle!

It’s been one month since Cas fell.

One month; 30 days exactly, since the gates of heaven were closed forever, leaving everything Castiel has known for a millennia trapped on one side, ever-changing, always-mystifying humanity on the other. And, though Dean can barely believe it, Cas seems to be okay. Or at least for the most part. He’s the same guy really, more or less, even with his wings clipped. He looks like he’s always looked, acts like he’s always acted; he’s still stoic, stiff, dorky, still for all intents and purposes behaves like a normal, albeit relatively awkward, dude. The only difference of course, is that that’s all he is now; no longer is there a wrathful warrior of god hiding underneath that holy tax accountant visage.

Things are different this time.

Whereas before Cas’s angel mojo seemed to ebb away slowly, gradually, this change is more all at once, like a flick has been switched, and all of a sudden Cas is paying attention to all sorts of things he hadn't before. What he notices seems random to Dean; from time to time a sensation will grip him out of the blue, something small and insignificant, forgotten to most well-adjusted humans, a flicker of embarrassment, for example, at not knowing how to brush his teeth, and he will stop what he’s doing to ruminate on the feeling, to name it, and “experience it, fully” he says, as if every encounter he’d had before with the same sentiment had been muted somehow. Dean wonders at times if he’s keeping a little card catalog in his brain, logging each reaction as he has them.

Eating. He really likes eating.

After everything, after they were safe and it was done, it was Cas who suggested food. Dean thought it seemed fitting in some way that his first instinct as a human would be to ease the searing knowledge of never being able go home again with carbohydrates. His pride vanished however when Cas turned down Dean’s offer for cheeseburgers, what Dean thought would be his obvious preference. But, as Cas corrected him sternly, that was Jimmy who loved burgers, not him. In fact, Sam was pleased to discover (after Cas turned down Dean’s second suggestion of steak) that Cas had no interest whatsoever in being a carnivore. When Dean rolled his eyes and asked why for the love of all things holy Cas would go vegetarian - and leave Dean odd man out while Cas and Sam bonded over salad and fruit and all that other healthy shit - Cas’s only response was to shrug and reach for another slice of pizza. And while Dean and Sam exchanged a half-concerned, half-amused look, Cas had devoured more than half the pie.

Needless to say, his next experience as a human was that of being achingly full. He had groaned in the backseat of the impala in his sleep all the way back to Kansas, a constant woeful lament that kept interrupting Dean’s angelic rendition of Dust In The Wind. He vowed never again to eat pizza as he rested his head against the window, cradling his belly like he was expecting something to pop out of it a la Alien.

At first he didn't like sleeping. When they got back to the bunker he refused the room Dean and Sam offered him, choosing instead to remain in the living area and read through some of the old texts left by the Men of Letters. Dean and Sam stayed with him for a while, having a silent conversation with their faces - _Is he OK?_  Sam’s pinched eyebrows suggested,  _hell if I know_  Dean’s shrug replied - and drinking expensive whisky to celebrate their hard-won victory, Dean’s eyes flicking back to Cas’s face intermittently, waiting for some kind of reaction, some sort of breakdown. Cas’s face betrayed nothing though, and soon Sam retired to his bedroom, followed shortly after by Dean, both exhausted and barely able to keep their eyes open. In the morning as Dean meandered down the hallway, sipping from a steaming mug of coffee, he had found Cas in the same position they had left him in; slumped over at the large table in the library, cheek resting against the book he had been reading, snoring quietly and drooling slightly onto the withered yellowed text. Dean watched him sleep for a while, earning Sam’s ire when he came out a little later and saw what Mr. Comatose had done to one of his precious books.

He is quiet at first. Not moody exactly. Subdued. But he gets better. After four days of falling asleep in random places he relents, getting over his inexplicable aversion to mattresses, and takes to sleeping in an actual bedroom. After that he’s in there for much of the next day, completely won over by napping - he finds new fascination in dreams. Not soon after that Dean finally convinces him to try to take a shower for real. Because that’s another new thing. The dude needs to clean himself now or he absolutely reeks.

He still doesn't like driving. Or at least he whines about it incessantly;  _too slow,_  he says and Dean tries (mostly unsuccessfully) not to snap at him for inadvertently insulting his baby; it’s gotta take some getting used to he supposes. When you’ve been able to zap from here to anywhere in a millisecond for the last ten billion years or so, yeah, 75 mph must seem like, well, slower than all hell. And so he attempts to bite his tongue while Sam smirks from the passenger seat and Dean has to tell him to shut up even though he wasn’t saying anything.

He likes television. That hasn’t changed. Dean gets him involved in Dr. Sexy almost immediately -  _But if Sabrina loves Doctor Sexy as she claims_ , he inquires with frustration,  _why does she insist on remaining with Doctor Mcdreamboat? Especially when Mcdreamboat himself has admitted to copulating with Nurse Danielle on multiple occasions?_  And Dean happily recites the complicated history between the two characters, practically hearing Sam’s eye roll from the other side of the room. Sam's phone is another form of entertainment he enjoys, the games on it amusing and distracting. Dean catches him shaking his head every so often with a curious smile while he plays Angry Birds, marveling to himself at what this funny little species can and has created.

Sam seems cheerier too, and Dean can tell that he likes having Cas with them. After they hunt a tulpa in New Mexico, Sam spends his time on the way back twisted around in the passenger seat, smiling excitedly and picking Cas’s brain for details about every monster and legend he can think of - the ex-angel’s like a walking encyclopedia, of course his nerdy brother would be into it - and another city over when they’ve gone quiet, Dean notices Sam watching the fallen angel in the rear view mirror, a soft smile passing over his face when he sees Cas looking contently at the passing trees. Dean understands and doesn’t make fun of him for that. Because he gets it. They’re alive. All three of them. And even if neither Sam nor Dean wants to admit it, they would have missed Cas if he had gone with the rest of the angels. They would have missed him a lot.

But there is one thing that’s off. Something that’s unexpected. if Dean’s being totally honest, something about Cas’s behavior has been slightly, well It’s been… odd. And not normal Cas-odd. Odd in a way Dean doesn’t understand how to deal with. Because the thing that’s peculiar, that’s not okay, not in the least is the way Cas has been acting specifically towards Dean.

Dean thought nothing of it at first, how Cas would flinch any time dean brushed by him in the kitchen, nudged him awake, sat next to him at the library table, or reached across him at a diner to grab the ketchup. It’s perfectly normal for the guy to be jumpy, Dean figured. And, he rationalized, maybe everything just feels altered now, physically too; maybe every sensation, every bodily contact is made ultra-sensitized. Or whatever. But the thing is, he doesn’t do it with Sam. Flinch that is. And lately he sits next to Sam when they go out to eat. When they’re on a case he chooses to follow Sam to question the husband or the wife or sister instead of poking around the crime scene with Dean. And Dean was okay with that, at least in the beginning. It’s not like they’re joined at the hip. Guy can do what he wants. So he shrugs agreeably and doesn’t say anything as Cas goes with Sam, once, twice, three times. And he pretends not to notice the unwelcome sliver of jealousy that creeps up on him each time he does.

But it gets worse. Cas stops looking Dean in the face after week two. And when he speaks to him, sometimes Dean spots the ex-angel’s hands gripped into fists at his sides. Sometimes he catches Cas with the most pained look on his face. Dean even starts to question Sam about his behavior, asking him if Cas ever says anything about Dean when they’re alone and it makes him feel like a fifth grade school girl. Sam just shrugs. “He’s still adjusting” is always his response. ‘Cause apparently the nerd duo’s relationship is just perfectly fucking peachy.

But it’s more than just adjusting. Dean can feel it. it’s something other than becoming human, other than having to figure out all the little people things, showering, shaving, basic human social cues and manners. Maybe Dean’s fucked something up, did something wrong. Because if this life has taught him anything, it’s that peace doesn’t last. The other shoe’s gotta drop sometime, only question is when. And honestly, Dean would rather it be sooner than later.

It’s been one month to the day since Cas fell and Dean and Sam are arriving home after hunting a nest of vampires. (Cas chose to stay at the bunker this time. As with the pizza and the napping, it’ turns out it is the small things he enjoys most; creature comforts. The feel of the wind against his face, a hot bath, music. Napping and coffee and watching soap operas. And knowing that eases Dean’s guilt somewhat, because maybe it was Cas’s choice, but the blame still falls on Dean. After all, Dean reminds himself regularly out of some bizarre masochistic habit, if Cas had never met Dean in the first place, he wouldn’t have had to deal with any of this shit.)

Cas is doing the dishes when they stroll in. He is relaxed, content; even humming to himself in that sandpaper voice of his. But when the brothers walk in, the voice abruptly ceases. Dean drops his duffle on the floor, takes off his jacket, and gives him a nod in greeting as he passes. Cas stops what he’s doing immediately and visibly tenses; his back straightens, goes from a question mark to an exclamation point, and suddenly he’s stiff as a rod before Dean has even had a chance to say anything. Sam meanders in with his own bag, heading straight into the other room to veg for a while with a tired “hey Cas”, oblivious to the man’s discomfort. Cas clears his throat in response, glancing at Dean for only an instant before deliberately averting his eyes. Dean scowls at him. He  _was_  going to follow Sam into the other room and relax with a beer, but now he decides to stay in the kitchen, if only spite Cas and his fairly obvious trepidation, eyeing the shorter man, feeling tired, bruised, and frustrated as all hell.

“What’d you do all day?” he finally asks after an awkward, heavy silence. And Dean wishes he knew what there was to feel awkward about. He’s sticking his head in the fridge to grab a bottle when he hears the faucet shut off, and then quickly after, rapid footsteps. As Dean shuts the refrigerator door he realizes that Cas has left the kitchen without a word, left the dishes unfinished and has made his way back towards his bedroom. Dean stands bewildered for a minute at the hasty disappearing act - something the guy has appeared to have mastered, be he angel or not - before he’s seized by a sudden incursion of rage and he juts his chin out, aggravated, cursing under his breath. There’s a moment of indecision, but then he slams his beer on the table, forgetting that he meant to get one for Sam too, and angrily stalks after Cas.

Enough.

He doesn’t bother knocking though he’s usually especially sensitive to the dude’s privacy. Considering all the times Cas has popped up in his personal bubble unannounced, Dean doesn’t feel too bad about it. Cas is sitting on the edge of the bed rolling down the sleeves of his trench coat absentmindedly (Yes he still wears it. Dean brought it up a few times but Cas seems to want to keep it on almost always. Dean has lost count of how many times they’ve had to take it the dry cleaners at this point, because without his angel mojo to do to the work, the garment gets filthy. Dean supposes it makes him feel safe, the coat a constant where everything else has changed.) and he looks up surprised when Dean comes in and slams the door shut behind him.

“Alright, what the hell is up with you?” he bites out, trying to hide the fever from his voice. He’s worried, yeah, and he’s pissed, but now there’s something else hiding underneath it, insidious and unrelenting. He’s hurt. Cas says nothing about him barging into the room, only looks up at him, blinks a few times. Swallows hard.

“I don’t know what you’re-"

“And don’t bullshit me,” Dean cuts him off with a shake of his head, “Tell me what’s going on.” He steps closer to Cas and  _dammit_ , he does it again; flinches, winces, as if Dean has physically threatened him. “That!” Dean barks at him, uncrossing his arms and pointing at the ground for emphasis. “Jesus Cas you’re acting like you’re waiting for me to hit you or something.” Cas swallows again, brings a hand up to his forehead, closes his eyes. He’s clenching his jaw over and over again - a habit he no doubt learned from Dean.

Dean stands there, re-crossing his arms, waiting, thinking. Maybe he’s being too… aggressive? Christ, the idea that Cas would actually be afraid of him… well, it never really crossed his mind before. He sighs, tries for patience, and scrubs his hand down his face, “I’m not gonna hurt you man,” he mumbles, softening his tone and trying without success not to be offended. Cas looks up at him at that, an unreadable expression on his face. At least he’s meeting his eyes.

“I know that.”

Dean watches him, studies him as if he can read what the issue is on Cas’s face alone. But all he sees is a protective mask, blank, his features betraying nothing but a slight twinge of panic. There’s something about it, somehow it reminds Dean of when he reunited with Cas in purgatory. Cas looks like a man who’s expected this conversation, who’s dreaded it. He has the same ominous air about him that he’s had every time Dean has had to get some kind of confession out of him. And Dean feels a sense of unease as he wonders what kind of ball Cas is going to drop this time.

His own defense mechanisms set in as the feelings of apprehension intensify. Denial. Avoidance. Familiar friends. Maybe he should leave him alone. Maybe Cas is just tired. Really, Dean is probably just being too nosy.

“Then what is it?”

Then again, maybe he’s not. And Dean won’t take that chance, not this time.

"Dean," and Cas shoots him an angry look, "drop it."

"Nope."

"It's nothing."

"Then you should have no problem telling me.

"Dean, _please._ "

Dean stares down at him, resolute.

"No."

Maybe he should drop it. Maybe whatever's bothering Cas is none of his business. He glares at his friend's hunched shoulders, the tension in his face. Shakes his head, says it again, softer.

"No."

Cas sits perfectly still but his eyes dart around the room, it’s as if he is calculating, trying to determine if there’s any way out. He finally closes his eyes after a long moment, seemingly finding no loophole to speak of. “I’m finding it… ” he searches for the right word “difficult” he finally manages, “to be around you.” Another jolt of hurt slices through Dean and he tries not to be combative right away. Patience and all that. When Cas doesn’t elaborate he sighs. This is like pulling teeth.

“Why?”

Cas shakes his head and his mouth tightens into a straight line. He furrows his brow dramatically, like only he can, and without warning he's suddenly angry, furious even, Dean thinks, and he jerks his head back up, eyes landing right smack on Dean.

“Because,” He growls.

“Because?”

“Yes. Because. Yes!” and he stands in one swift motion, seeming to gather his thoughts. “You know, if you weren’t aware, Dean, you’re not an easy person to be around.” He starts, and Dean feels himself lift an eyebrow. “And… and you’re not  _nice_  to me.” He snaps, his eyes growing wider, excited. “and you’re rude. And I find the music you listen to loud and obnoxious. And sometimes you use so many…” he searches for a word for a moment yet again before landing on “ _pop_ culture references that I don’t know what you’re even  _saying_.” Dean grimaces at him, annoyed.

“Uh huh.” And he puts his hands on his hips. Cas looks up at him hopefully. And Dean isn’t a moron. He knows what Cas is doing because he's done it too and he’s not going to let him. He's not going to beg his way out of this, not going to bargan and distract.

“And that’s why you flinch. ” he states, “‘Cause I’m rude and annoying and listen to too much classic rock. That’s why you’ve been acting like a damn spooked horse whenever I’m in the same room with you?” Cas tries for a minute, Dean can tell, really tries to look him in the eye and agree, and convince him. To lie. But it’s fleeting; Dean stares him down and at his expression Cas sighs and relents, hanging his head, shaking it slightly and sinking back down onto the edge of the bed. Perhaps it’s because of everything they’ve been through, but they aren’t very good at lying to each other, not anymore (even when Cas asked Dean honestly whether he looked foolish wearing a pair of Sam’s too large pajamas bottoms, Dean couldn’t give the guy a break and bring himself to say no – which in turn caused Cas to sulk for the rest of the evening). Dean just waits, Patient. Cas lets out another long mournful sigh and after a time seems to give in.

“I’ve had to adjust to a lot of…. to a lot.” he begins, all resentment vanished from his voice, “There’s so much more than there was before and I’m finding it,” he glances back up at Dean, “ _extremely_  difficult.” Dean frowns at him, not in the least satisfied. He lifts his eyebrows, his silence urging Cas to go on. “It’s overwhelming,” he continues hurriedly, his hands fluttering in front of him, as if saying everything he has to as fast as he can will lessen the impact. “But in… unexpected ways. This body is mine now. This mind is mine. There are all these new… these physical responses that I didn’t anticipate…”

“Cas,” Dean stops him, holding a hand up, hoping to bring him back before he goes off further on this unintelligible tangent. “Man, just bottom line it for me.”

He swallows thickly. “I don’t know how to say this,” Cas mumbles looking downright distraught. “I don’t want you to-“

“Say what?” Dean cuts in again, patience all but gone. “Just spit it out,” Cas glares up at him, his eyes fierce. When he speaks again his voice is hushed, just above a whisper, the words fighting to get past his lips.

“It was there when I was an angel,” he begins, eyes locked onto Dean’s now, “it’s always been there, but it was subdued, I could ignore it. Now… it’s so much… it’s  _too_  much, it consumes me, Dean, it aches, and it’s more… it’s worse than anything, worse than a stomach ache or a headache, worse than insomnia or a bug bite or a burn or-.”

“For fuck’s sake Cas,” Dean says, worry a tightening vise around his lungs, “What does?”

Cas grunts and rubs his eyes. “Want,” he scratches, looking at his hands in his lap. “This… incessant wanting.” Dean’s stares blankly at him with incomprehension, not any closer to understanding what the hell Cas is on about. Cas’s eyes fall shut. “Don’t make me say it aloud Dean, please,” Cas implores softly. Dean doesn’t move, doesn't say anything. There’s that unease working its way up his spine again, and a feeling of weightlessness, as if he’s either falling a long way down, or just about to jump, tip toeing through his stomach. It’s just this side of panic, but not quite. It’s like his body is responding before his brain has had time to catch up. Because honestly, what the hell is Cas talking about? Want? What kind of want…

Oh.

And  _oh_  his brain catches up then. And suddenly something in him thinks he might know the meaning behind Cas’s words. But no. Come on, no. It’s impossible and ridiculous and terrifying. Though not as terrifying as the alarm Dean feels when he vaguely recognizes what lies under that panic. Because underneath that there’s excitement. And goddamn it… a tingling sense of… is that… hope?

Fuck.

Shit.

Panic. Hope. Repeat. 

“Say what,” Dean murmurs. Because maybe he’s wrong. It’s stupid. Oh come on, Of course he’s wrong.

“What I… " he swallows once. Twice. "What I feel for you.” And oh fuck he wasn’t wrong. “It’s more than…” and Cas is folded over so much into himself now that Dean can barely hear him. “I think it’s possible that I… that I’m…” Another pause. Dean holds his breath as Cas shakes his head and heaves one last deep defeated sigh, one that seems to utterly deflate him. “Dean. I’m very much in love with you,” he finally mutters, miserably, “and I want you. All of you. I want you... physically. So much.  _So much_ ,” he whispers this last almost as an afterthought, voice sharp, eyes squeezed shut and Dean is momentarily taken aback by the intensity of his voice, “so damn much it terrifies me.” He looks up at Dean despairingly from his crouch and his eyes are wretched and wide, ablaze, and so fucking indescribably blue that the word isn’t an adequate description of their hue; it’s as if Castiel’s eyes came first, and the color itself second. “It frightens me to be around you,” he continues solemnly. “Every time I… when I’m near you, it’s like I’m drowning. I…I don’t know how else to describe it. It’s like I can’t breathe, Dean, and all I want to do is touch you." He bites out Dean's name, like saying the word itself is painful. "All I want to do is touch your face and….” and at this he hangs his head, shame faced, his voice barely a whisper. “And kiss you. Dean. I. I very much wish to kiss you.”

There’s a long moment when Cas is just rubbing his forehead, eyes closed, mouth tight, but after a silence he chances a look back at Dean, who is still staring at him, probably vacantly. Cas frowns at him.

“On the mouth,” he clarifies, blinking up at Dean. “As lovers do-“

“Got it, Cas. I got it.” Dean quips.

There’s yet another longer stretch of silence as his words sink in, and the strangest thing out of everything, out of all of this, is that Dean is surprised, I mean of  _course_  he is. But at the same time… he’s not. He’s not at all. He wonders how that can be as his heart pumps furiously in his chest and adrenaline spikes through his veins. He waits for the feelings of disgust to consume him. Waits for the anxiety to morph into despair at this new unforeseen fork in the road. But it doesn’t. Worry is replaced with a perplexing sort of buoyancy. Cas is no longer looking at him, and Dean is acutely aware of the significance of his response. He can walk out the door and Cas might mope to himself for a few days but he’ll also leave it alone. If Dean pleases, he knows Cas will never mention it again. He can shrug it off, tell Cas he’s sorry but he doesn’t swing that way. That he’s into chicks. He can laugh like it’s a joke though both of them know it isn’t. But the important thing is that he can leave, he can flee right now. He can open the door and walk through it and forget this ever happened.

If asked now, he probably couldn’t say why, but instead, instead of leaving, he says four small words, low and soft and tentative. Exhilarating.

Game changing.

“Then why don’t you.”

A moment passes or it could be a thousand years. At Dean's quiet confrontation, Cas straightens slow and stiffly, hazily reminding Dean of a robot rebooting, and looks up at him, face awash in doubt, as if he’s not sure if he heard Dean right. He pulls one of his bewildered head tilt slash eye squint ensembles, suspicion written all over his face, certain Dean must be mocking him. This was obviously not an outcome Cas had seen coming, because as the seconds drag on and Dean doesn’t crack a smile, Cas’s expression slowly unfolds, rearranging itself into one of ever-so-cautious awe. Dean’s heart pounds against his rib cage but he manages to hold Cas’s ridiculously intense gaze, swallowing heavily, throat suddenly dry.

Cas opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.

He stands then, methodically, eyes never leaving Dean’s face. He takes one careful step forward then stops. It’s as if he’s waiting for Dean to flee like a frightened squirrel or something and doesn’t want to scare him off. But Dean doesn’t move. Dean is frozen, lightheaded, his brain a symphony of white noise. The air in the small room is heavy, the silence pregnant with a fizzling tension that makes Dean’s breath come short.

When at last Cas gets close enough to touch, Dean can’t help but lick his lips, aware that they’ve gone dry, and at that, he sees Cas’s face crack open, a terrible desperation flooding his features. He watches what he’s almost positive must be the Cas-equivalent of the thought “fuck it” pass over his expression and Dean's heart somersaults as without further debate, Cas clutches his hands into fists, sucks in one long deep breath, leans forward, and brushes his lips against Deans’.

Dean’s first instinct is to freeze completely, and he stiffens, makes no response as Cas’s warm lips push against his own. Both of their eyes remain open and on one hand he can see Cas’s cross-eyed face in front of him, but on the other he’s seeing white. Because this is wrong. Cas is a dude. And no matter how much he doesn’t consider himself homophobic, it’s hard to get past all those years of his father’s voice in his head, holding manliness and strength and toughness to be the most important of a real man’s character. And Cas isn’t a woman. No matter that he was an angel before, now he’s a man. He doesn’t have curves and breasts and all the things that Dean usually finds attractive. And that’s wrong. That must be wrong. That’s not Dean. right? Dean’s not  _gay_  or anything.

Yet he’s not moving away. And oh, he finds he doesn’t want to. Not in the least. Still, he can’t seem to move forward either; it’s like he’s stuck in molasses. And he has a flashback to that little blond girl who kissed him in kindergarten. Because just like then he honestly doesn’t know what to do.

Cas pulls away, quickly, testing the waters of Dean’s mouth like he’s expecting to find sharks there, and he dares to look at Dean eyes. It was nothing but a press of flesh, innocent and chaste, not even a peck by Dean’s standards, but his heart won’t shut up. He doesn’t do anything. He thinks he wants to, wants to reassure Cas that  _it’s okay_  because the poor guy still looks like he’s expecting to get socked in the jaw any second. But he can’t. He swallows again but soon becomes aware that his head is unconsciously canting forward, lips searching for the warmth that just left them. He meets Cas’s eyes, unable to speak but hoping Cas can see, can feel it. And there must be something expectant in his features because Cas’s brow loosens completely as his eyes study Dean’s, probing, searching them for the faintest hint of discomfort, repulsion, anger and finding nothing of the sort. And as Dean waits, Cas lets out a huff of air, lets his eyes fall shut and brings his lips to Dean’s again in wonder, a hand finding a hold on his arm.

Dean lets his own eyes close, heartbeat so fast he thinks it might burst, he lets his hand move up to grip Cas’s coat gently. He lets his mouth fall open, lets himself explore Cas’s lips; let’s his body take over the familiar act of kissing and in a moment of bravery, lets his shaky hand find its way to Cas’s face, lightly, _lightly_  moving to the back of his neck, fingertips meeting the heated skin there, an area too intimate for friends to tough.

It’s all soft and timid, curious and sweet at first, Cas tasting his lips gently, once, twice, holding his breath, pulling back, and then tasting again. Slowly his mouth begins to linger longer and his hand comes up to rest against Dean’s chest, his breath coming short against Dean’s mouth, the idea that Dean might actually want this as well seeming to be almost too exhilarating. And it’s all so strange to Dean; he knows Cas so well, so intimately, and to know him this long and just now be feeling his mouth on his, it feels natural and at the same time completely alien.

They break apart only for a moment, because Cas is fucking eager now, his grip on Dean’s clothing tightening, and Dean can feel Cas’s own erratic heart beat through his damn trench. And when Dean feels the tip of Cas’s tongue venture out to touch his own he notices a sudden warmth blooming in his chest, a glowing, buzzing thing that spreads out and reaches with sinewy fingers deep into his stomach. Cas lets out one small, barely audible half-breath half-moan half-grunt, just a tiny noise really, but that’s all it takes for Dean’s walls to collapse completely. The heat that’s pooling in the pit of his stomach erupts, bursting out from all directions, burning bright and hot like a raging fire and _oh my God_.

Both Dean’s hands, jerky and spastic, find their way into in Cas’s hair now, a powerful hunger overwhelming him all at once, and the realization of this need sends his brain reeling all over again. It’s so much; and God he doesn’t know what he’s doing, his body is moving all on its own but it feels clumsy and adolescent, his arms and legs rubber and seeming to belong to someone else. This is all new to him, and a part of his brain is still screaming at him – that this is a guy, and shouldn’t it be weird and shouldn’t he feel shame and is this really happening? - and he feels himself unconsciously holding back, his movements uncertain, the hands wound in Cas’s hair trembling slightly.

Cas, however, is not tentative. Is not gentle. Is not soft, not over thinking or holding back or being patient. Dean gets the feeling that Cas is 100% done with being patient.

It’s like a dam has broken in the guy and, without warning, Dean finds himself being smacked back against the door, and Cas is pressing against him like he’s trying to crawl inside of him, like he’s drowning and hanging on for dear life. And Dean is reminded of Cas’s strength. He may just be a human now, but they guy still packs a punch. Dean is overpowered and he doesn’t care, because now he stops thinking and takes Cas’s lead and succumbs and forgets and loses himself in this. And  _shit_  everything feels so good, so right; Cas’s mouth on his feels like coming home for the first time in his life.

They stop too quickly for Dean's liking, out of necessity, to catch their breaths, because everything is too much and his brain is screaming  _cascascas_  and he can’t  _breathe_  for fuck’s sake. Neither of them seem to want to stop touching, though, to break contact even for an instant, and they pull at each other, mouthing at the air just shy of each other’s lips, desperate for more yet revealing in this delicious little moment, wanting to prolong the electricity of this prelude to another kiss. Dean maintains a tight hold on the back of Cas’s neck, keeping their foreheads close, then pressed together, and they just stay like that for a second, breathing each other in, drinking in the heat of their joint exhalations, Cas’s hands grasping the fabric of his shirt tightly.

“Cas,” Dean whispers, a breath against Cas’s eyelids, and he didn’t tell himself to say it, the word just came out, and it’s like a prayer. He feels Cas’s breath against his chin and Dean cradles his head with both hands now, fingers raking through the ends of his hair. At the sound of his name and still empowered by Dean’s wholly unanticipated reciprocation, Cas slams Dean back against the door and reclaims his lips aggressively. And Dean doesn’t care because breathing is overrated.

It takes Dean a long, long moment before his brain clears enough to realize that Sam is calling his name, his worried voice emitting from the hallway right outside the room.

“You guys okay in there?’ he calls, and the kiss breaks with an embarrassingly loud wet sound.

Dean swallows and licks his lips, breathing heavily. He attempts to calm his voice enough so he can respond, glancing at Cas for assistance. Cas, however, seems merely perplexed by Dean's reticence, altogether unperturbed by Sam’s presence, and Dean has to stop him from leaning in and kissing him again. Cas frowns deeply, impatient, regarding Dean's mouth hungrily, one eyebrow raised, irritation at the interruption evident. His eyelids are heavy, his lips swollen. His hair is sticking up in all directions from where Dean’s hands worked through it. Dean looks at him, at the lines of his face, the sharp curve of his jaw and he’s fucking beautiful and Dean can’t believe how much he wants him. How much he didn’t realize it. How much he didn’t let himself realize it.

“Yeah, fine,” Dean manages, trying to ignore the thick cord of arousal working its way through his body, voice coming out thick. A tense pause.

“Oh. Oh okay.” And Sam clears his throat “… Alright yeah. Ok. Good.” Clears it again.

There’s another beat, but then the sound of footsteps retreating back down the hallway, and Dean lets lose a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Dean’s eyes dance over Cas’s face as Sam walks away, his own desire reflected in Cas's face, the pure animalistic need he sees there causing something to tighten in his chest. Again he marvels at the two of them, at how bizarrely easy this feels though it should be weird as fuck. He can't even begin to understand why, but it's not. It’s natural. And his hand slides back up to Cas’s neck, thumb softly brushing against his always present stubble. Before he can help himself his lips curve into slow grin.

“I don’t know why you waited so long,” he mutters, to which Cas downright glowers at him. Taking in Dean’s sheepish face Cas rolls his eyes, almost growls. With a quirk of his lips, he reaches behind them to lock the door, then grabs Dean by the collar, bringing their faces back together, and kisses the smug smile off of Dean’s face.

***

Outside, Sam walks back to the library scratching the back of his head, a familiar wince on his face, one he’s worn many a time over the years - every time he’d walk in on Dean and a latest conquest to be precise. He can’t be sure of course, but it was pretty hard to hear that smacking of lips, that heavy breathing and the thud of bodies against the door and not figure it out. He rolls his eyes. It’s been one month since Cas fell. And dean has finally allowed himself to fall too. Sam shakes his head, breathes out a laugh, grabs Dean’s unopened beer from the table and heads back into the room with a wry smile.


End file.
